


Junior League

by winter_angst



Series: Tarnished But So Grand [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, M/M, Passive-aggression, Power Imbalance, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28880088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock attends orientation and has a serious conversation with Jack.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff/Stephen Strange
Series: Tarnished But So Grand [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108256
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	Junior League

Brock had grown up helping his nonna at an hourly motel. The kind of motel where Brock was often faced with the stench of faux heat pheromones, wet Trojans on bedside tables and slick stained sheets. It wasn’t glamorous and that was fitting with the rest of his life. It wasn’t in his nature to rebel against the class he was born into. Had his nonna not insisted that he rise above their social class he probably would have remained there picking up used rubbers and stripping filthy sheets. He probably would have been content to do so. Averageness was in his blood, a long line of Rumlows -- unremarkable and unimpactful, they worked hard to scrape by, getting by with the staples of life and little more. If someone was to ask Brock he may have reflected that those days, long and filthy, were easier than those where his only roles were domestic. Some days he felt like an imposter and most days he felt he didn’t belong. 

Jack was patient; he didn’t question when Brock stumbled over an open ended request, didn’t get annoyed when he hesitated trying to formulate a proper response. Brock was lucky in that regard. Actually, Brock was lucky in many regards. He had been Bonded to an Alpha of incredible patience and kindness. He seemed to genuinely care for Brock despite his glaring imperfections. He could have his pick of the lot -- omegas who had grown up under the tutelage of poised and elegant omegas -- and he picked Brock, a backwoods hick who had gotten rough lessons in subservience from his hard-working nonna. She had decided when he was young that he wouldn’t live the same life she had. Sometimes, in the safety of his own mind, he hated her for it. He longed for a simple life whenever he was faced with a situation he had no idea how to tackle. Long days in and out of motel rooms, scents sticking to his skin as he stuffed dirty sheets into the washer…it all was so much easier than living in a world he didn’t understand. 

Currently he was sweating onions in a pan, letting the warm smell envelope him in a comforting billowing steam. He had plenty of time, it was still early afternoon, but he was making stew in homage to the cooling weather. Jack had gone on a hunting trip with Steve’s Alpha, Bucky, who Brock was starting to get to know better. It was elk season and Jack had taken down an impressive six hundred and eighty pound bull. Breaking down big game was something that Brock did know, thankfully. His nonno had hunted elk plenty before his death and Brock remembered hanging beside him, watching the massive bulls and cows dangling from the massive linden bough. Dressing the deer and breaking it down on an old plywood table put together by his nonno’s own hands, stained with blood, Brock learned his way in and out of elk along with various other hunting game. 

Brock hadn’t been expected to break down the bull, he hadn’t even laid eyes on its body. It had gone directly to the butcher and a taxidermist for the head to be mounted. Brock had been delivered a box full of prime cuts of venison and Brock had stacked them carefully in the freezer. He took the skillet off the heat and scrapped the onions into the slow cooker. It felt a bit lazy to use it but open pot cooking always yielded dryer meat and with meats with low fat content, such as venison, it needed all the moisture retained as possible. 

Once everything was set in the slow cooker Brock was left listless. He wandered into the reception hall and up the steps, trailing a finger along the polished mahogany railing as he wandered around the baluster, looking down at the hall below him. There was so much space in the plantation home, four levels, and three bedrooms each with their own sitting area and oversized fireplace. It was stately and fit Jack perfectly. Brock….not so much. He tried to find a place himself within all the rooms; he found he fit in best with the furnishing. 

Today however he wasn’t given the luxury of placing himself among the rest of Jack’s things. Using the slow cooker wasn’t just a choice he made due to meat moisture, it was a choice he made out of necessity because he was attending a Junior League orientation. Yet another necessary evil of high class living it seemed. It was a social activist group, was Brock’s understanding but their chapter focused on local fundraisers partnered with the Club. After all no one was permitted to the League unless their Alpha was a member. It was an omega and Beta only organization, one with strict expectations that Brock was certain he couldn't adhere properly too. Steve was a Saint in the whole matter, as was Wanda. They’d urged him to dress up and warned him about the Provisional Leader, Pepper. She was a quick paced, no-nonsense Beta, the kind that Brock was wary about it. The one that could pinpoint him as an outside from a mile away. 

He hoped he wouldn’t be faced with her right away but was disappointed to find out she would be heading his orientation. There were hoops he had to go through to join the League. The entire ride to the clubhouse he was fidgety and nervous. Desperately he wanted to turn around and go home. But he couldn’t permit himself to disobey Jack, much less embarrass him by being a no-show at an orientation scheduled specifically for him. Steve and Wanda had written him recommendation letters and Brock had the checkbook to write out the application fee after the meeting. They were expediting the process, for Jack’s sake more than Brock’s, so Brock wouldn’t be required to take the provisional courses. Brock was grateful for that. His subpar education would have surely ousted him. 

The clubhouse was a large building on a generous expanse of land. It had a horseshoe driveway with a stone fountain in the center of cherubs. Immediately Brock knew he didn’t belong. He locked the door to the car, a flashy black Range Rover that, unlike Brock, fit in nicely with a sleek Jaguar parked up further. The building was newer than most in the county but it was undeniably regal and intimidating as Brock approached the marble steps. Events were held there, was Brock’s understanding, so it’s impressive size was due to it’s monstrous ballroom. Wanda had rattled off a list of the major events that the omegas planned. The community service aspect was left to Betas -- omegas weren’t meant to get their hands dirty, it wasn't very becoming. 

He paused at the stoop, drawing in a calming breath and smoothing down his shirt before he took the golden door handle and let himself in. It swung open easily, silently opening up to a large entrance hall. There was a coat check room, empty, to his left. The walls were adorned with portraits of clubhouse leaders from its establishment back in 1912. Betas, Betas, Betas. A part of Brock wondered briefly if an omega’s bust would ever be immortalized and hung on the eggshell walls but he dismissed the thought just as quickly: omegas had no business being distracted from their family role. He didn’t get long to linger on his strange thoughts before the sound of heels striking the floors jerked his body toward the sound. 

Pepper, he assumed, was a redhead. Brock wondered if all the women in Oldham county were. 

“You must be Brock.” She looked at her watch. “You’re not late. Good. Come with me.” 

Brock hastened to follow. They passed massive french doors and Brock glimpsed the ballroom that Wanda had talked about. Even the bit he saw was impressive. He feared he’d never belong in a place like this. They stepped into a side office. It was airy and bright and strikingly pink. Brock waited until Pepper had settled and invited him to sit. She looked pleased which made him hope he’d made the right move. 

“Brock,” she said, looking at stationary in front of her. “Steve has very good things to say about you. As does Wanda but she has good things to say about everyone.” 

Pepper sniffed in distaste. Brock was terrified -- if she could find something to dislike about someone as agreeable as Wanda, there were countless things she could find to dislike about Brock. Brock swallowed and nodded his head. “Yes.” 

“You don’t have experience with the Junior League?” 

“No.” 

“Any experience coordinating and running events?”

“...no.” If he was denied, how angry would Jack be? 

Pepper sniffed once again. “Good. You can learn how to do so correctly. Teaching is easy, reteaching is something else all together.” She set down the papers and looked at him. “You will not be running anything in the immediate future but I’m sure you expected as much. You’ll watch and learn and assist whenever asked.” 

Brock could have cried, he was so relieved. “Yes ma’am.” 

Pepper seemed pleased at the formality and Brock filed that away. She explained that omegas focused on the primary events: the Winter Ball, Thanksgiving Eve Ball -- where Brock would be introduced as a debutante, Savor the Spring, and the Spring House Tour. It sounded incredibly formal, something Brock didn’t have the credentials for. He smiled though, the polite, earnest smile that Brock wore at the country club when he was on Jack’s arm. Here he was still representing Jack; he didn’t take the responsibility lightly, he couldn’t. He took some solace in knowing that none of the aforementioned responsibilities would fall on him immediately. There would be time for him to observe and learn before the responsibility would fall on him. And by then Brock would have a better understanding of what it meant to be an omega in their social circle. By then he would have found his place in Jack’s world. At least, he hoped so. 

** ** ** **

It wasn’t until after Jack had finished his glass of Angel’s Envy that he addressed the meeting. 

“How did it go?” 

“Good. I met with Mrs. Stark and she explained how things work. I won’t be running any events for a while but I think that’s a good thing.” 

“Oh really? And why is that?” 

“So I can figure things out a bit.” Brock didn’t want to admit that he was still lost to the way of this world. 

On the surface it was all so painfully simple. Dot yours is, cross your ts, hold your tongue, sit still, cross your legs, be good. But appeasing Alphas was vastly easier than fitting in with his equals…who he wasn’t really equal with, should he be honest. They had grown up accompanying their parents to galas and white tie events, to tea times and luncheons. Brock had condoms and beer bottles. There were certain things that couldn’t be faked and experience was one of them. Steve, Wanda, Clint and Natasha didn’t know the extent of his inexperience and should Brock get his way they never would. Natasha especially, she didn’t need another reason to hate him. 

Regardless of what Brock thought about it all, about how complicated and stressful it all was, he had no reason to burden his Alpha with it. 

“You’ll get a hang of it in no time,” Jack said with his usual conviction. 

Sometimes Brock found it a bit tiring. It never begged the opportunity for Brock to open but a bit, to express that things weren’t as okay as he acted like they were. Jack didn’t have to do that of course, he was a good Alpha regardless. He was fair and just with Brock, kind and understanding. But sometimes Brock thought he could be a bit…callous when it came to the matter of omega socializing. It must have looked so easy on the surface; dinner parties, book clubs, tea times and a Junior League. All easy, simple tasks meant for simple-minded -- though well refined -- omegas. Brock didn’t have that background to fall back on. His simplicity wasn’t taught, it was what he knew. All he knew. 

They retired to bed. Brock took a shower first, leaving the water running for Jack as he took a container of moisturizer to the sitting room where he slathered up his skin. The fireplace wasn’t going yet but Brock gazed into the empty area anyway. When he was young he had thought his nonna’s dreams for him were simply lofty fantasies. He’d been so certain he would be cleaning up motel rooms just like her for a living before he found a blue-collar Alpha to Bond with. 

It had been just shy of four months with Jack and while Brock felt he was getting to know him, there was much about the Alpha he didn’t know. His habits he’d picked up on quickly because Jack made them known along with his expectations of them. A hot meal, a full glass, a readily available omega. Brock capped the lotion and replaced it. Some nights Jack wanted sex and others nights he just wanted to hold Brock against his chest in a firm protective hold as if someone would attempt to take him away. The idea was laughable: who in their right mind would want Brock? 

Tonight was one of those sexless evenings, Jack going to his closet to slip into underwear. Brock followed suit. Once he was in Jack’s arm, breathing in his scent of woodshavings, musk and pine, Brock felt safe. Safe from the Junior League and Pepper. Safe from Natasha and her dislike for him. Safe from all the expectations that he couldn’t meet. He closed his eyes and let his breath even out. The sound of Jack’s heartbeat lulled him to sleep. 

** ** ** ** 

Wanda was hosting the book club so he was bringing homemade rye chips, crab dip and champagne grapes. They weren’t going to talk about the book, they never did; it would be an hour and a half of spending time together and catching up. The books were just accessories that would be set on the patio table and forgotten about. He had no objections to that, he liked the group he’d come to get to know and they, save for Natasha, seemed to like him regardless of his various oddedites. He gathered his things, the unread book balanced on top, and went to the car. 

The Strange household was modern and stuck out amongst the antebellum era buildings it was surrounded by. It was fitting however, a new house for new money. Wanda had shared that her Alpha, Stephen, had come from a modest family and taken himself through medical school, eventually becoming a neurosurgeon. He worked at Baptist Health La Grange with Natasha’s Alpha, Bruce. It was why the two of them had gotten so close, Steve explained. They passed long hours together. It was a demanding field to work in. Brock’s car climbed a winding driveway through a wrought iron gate. The driveway was smooth and free of any blemishes. The trees opened up abruptly to the home, a three story house made mostly of glass and gray steel. It was breathtakingly beautiful and Brock openly stared. Where Jack’s home had rustic appeal this house was everything that was sleek and modern. 

He parked behind Natasha’s Bentley and carefully took out the snacks and book. The door opened as he approached and Wanda accepted part of the burden.

“Hi, I’m so happy you came!” she said, as though Brock had the option, or the want, not to. “Come in.” 

He was led to the sunny sitting room where Natasha was languidly sipping champagne. She flicked her green eyes at him, staring at him for a moment, and then went back to staring at nothing which was apparently far more interesting than Brock. He was grateful for that; it was never comfortable to find himself on the receiving end of her gaze. Wanda set down the food beside a veggie platter and a bottle of Louis Roederer resting in a bucket of ice. Alcohol was a common theme in all meetings except tea time. Brock didn't mind, it helped temper his nerves. Brock sat in the stiff chair, the furthest spot from Natash, and the corners of her lips twitched a bit. It was so subtle Brock doubted on whether or not it had happened. He held onto the book, which was little more than a prop, tightly. Wanda came in with a wide friendly smile. Today she was wearing a blue dress, pale as an empty sky, her hair pinned up away from her face. She looked lovely, as she always did. She had a different kind of beauty to her than Natasha did. She didn’t have the same hard edges, the same harsh lines. She flowed like water, soft smiles and gentle eyes. Natasha was sharper, stiff lipped with eyes like emeralds, cold and hard. Both omegas were beautiful, there was no denying that, but their kinds of beauty were polar opposites. 

“How have you been?” Wanda asked as she poured him a flute of champagne. 

“Thank you,” Brock accepted it. “Fine. Keeping busy. I had my orientation yesterday.” 

“Oh!” Wanda said. “Oh that’s right. How could I have forgotten. I should have called you. How did it go? I hope Pepper wasn’t too hard on you. She…she doesn’t like me much, I don’t think.” 

Brock didn’t confirm or deny her final statement, ignoring it all together for the sake of Wanda’s feelings. Though his correction might have just solidified her fears. “She said that I won’t be doing much for a while. Mostly watching and learning.” 

“Mostly it’s planning events,” Wanda explained. “Unfortunately we don’t get to really go out and do the community service -- that’s only for the Betas. But planning events is just as rewarding.” 

Brock thought she might be trying to convince herself of that and not him. He didn’t comment on that. “It sounds like it’ll be interesting.” 

“Interesting,” Natasha cut, disgusted. “I think you’ve yet to give us an actual opinion of anything. Surely you have a brain in that head of yours?” 

“Natasha.” Wanda said sharply. “I’m sorry Brock, that was very rude of her.” 

The omega’s distaste for Brock seemed to have evaporated because Natasha was silent once more, staring off at nothing, sipping her champagne as though nothing had happened. If Wanda hadn’t said anything he would have thought he’d imagined the entire thing. Omegas weren’t supposed to be assertive. They were supposed to be agreeable, subservient, good. Brock was just trying to play the role properly -- why weren’t they? Was Brock going about it wrong? It went without saying that these omegas had a certain level of finesse that came naturally to them, having been bred into them by long lines of powerful bloodlines. Brock didn’t have that luxury. He had to try because if he didn’t he would make a fool of Jack and himself. 

“It’s okay,” he said a bit hollowly.

The bell rang and Wanda got to her feet, worry furrowing her forehead for a moment. 

“I’ll be right back,” she assured Brock, giving a side glance to Natasha who didn’t seem to have noticed the bell, much less Wanda’s words.

Brock forced a smile and brought the champagne to his lips. The bubbles chased each other across his tongue and he took a sip. He was sitting ramrod straight, entire body keyed up listening to see who had arrived. He already knew it would be Steve -- Clint was chronically late -- but he needed the distraction. Focusing on the cold uncomfortable space between Brock and Natasha was intolerable at the particular moment. He’d always hoped that icy reception he got from Natasha had been him misreading the situation; clearly he had judged correctly. 

Footsteps approached and Brock sighed quietly in relief. Steve entered with a tray of raspberry tortes. Steve didn’t hesitate to sit beside Natasha -- she didn’t hate him. He belonged, Brock didn’t. 

“We’re just waiting on Clint,” Wanda announced. “And then we can get started.” 

‘Get started’ made it sound like they would be discussing the book but Brock knew better now. Steve smiled at Brock and Brock mirrored the best he could while still shaken up by Natasha’s attack. Maybe it was a bit dramatic to call it an attack but that was what it felt like. An attack on Brock and his attempt at fitting in, an attack on being the kind of omega that Jack deserved. He wasn’t going to deviate from that just to fit in with an angry omega. That wasn’t fair. 

“How was orientation.” 

“It was…” not ‘interesting’. He flicked a glance towards Natasha who didn’t show any sign of listening. “Good. I think it went well. Thank you both for your letters.” 

“It’s my pleasure,” Steve said warmly. “I’m glad Pepper didn’t scare you off. She can be a bit intense at times but it's because she cares so much. You must be excited about the upcoming ball where you’ll be formally introduced though, right?” 

Brock had been desperately trying not to think about it. The Thanksgiving Ball debuted debutants to the Junior League and Brock was, as far as he knew, the only one who had joined this year. “I wouldn’t say I’m excited,” Brock admitted after a pause. 

He was slowly adjusting to opening a bit to the group. They never chastised him for his hesitations and his fears. Except Natasha, of course. 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Wanda assured him. “You get up, she says your name, they clap, you sit back down. Easy.” 

What if Brock tripped? What if he stood up too late? What if he sat down too late? Or, early? There was nothing easy about the world they lived in but Brock smiled like he had been convinced. To these omegas everything came so easy. Brock hated them a bit for it. Clint arrived a few minutes later and once he started eating everyone else did too. Clint talked about how Phil was chasing a fugitive serial killer through the state and everyone listened, rapt, as Clint shared details he most likely wasn’t supposed to. Brock wondered what it must be like to be left home alone as often as Clint was. His Alpha was almost always on the road. Brock wondered how they’d build a family if he was never home but it wasn’t appropriate to ask. Clint didn’t seem to be bothered by it, he seemed excited to share every gorey detail he’d coerced from his Alpha about the killer’s MO (“He flays the fingers and toes pre-mortem, isn’t that sick?”). 

Brock listened in. He nodded when he was supposed, laughed when appropriate. He didn’t lend any stories, he didn’t know enough about Jack’s work to have details to share. No one pressed him for them either. Natasha complained about her Alpha’s long hours at work, topping off her champagne while doing it. Brock made a point not to catch her eye. The hour and a half went by quickly and Brock found himself heading back to the car. Most of the dip and chips had been eaten by Clint and he had readily volunteered to bring them home so Brock with only a book in hand. He tried not to linger on Natasha snapping at him on the ride home but it was all he could think about. He didn’t understand what he’d done to make the redhead so upset with him. He tried to brush it off, to focus on going home and preparing a good meal for his Alpha. But it lingered like a bad taste in the back of his throat. 

He pondered on if being slightly more outspoken would be welcome as he sauteed shallots and green onions together in a pan. Would Jack appreciate it or did he prefer Brock to be demure and quiet? Was it wearing on him the way it wore on her? So consumed by those thoughts, he scorched the shallots and onions and had to scrape it out and air out the bitter smell of burnt food. He tried again, this time keeping his mind on cooking. He decided that he’d ask Jack when he returned home. Brock set aside the sauteed vegetables and dropped chorizo into the pan to cook. He diced up tomatoes and peppers and added them in before he added mussels to steam. 

** ** ** **

It wasn’t until after they had sex that Brock dared to hedge the question of, “Do you… Do you think I should be more...assertive?” 

Jack, who had been dozing, opened his eyes at that and turned his head to look at him. “What do you think?” he asked after a beat. 

Brock had no idea what to say so he shrugged uselessly. Jack smiled and pressed a kiss to his collarbone. 

“I think it wouldn’t hurt for you to make yourself heard a bit more,” Jack said. “Not that I don’t appreciate how good you are. And you are good, Brock. I know how hard you are on yourself. I should say it more. But you can be good and still have an opinion. As long as you’re still following my directions and behaving in public I don’t see the harm in you opening up a bit. I’d like to get to know my omega a little bit more.” 

Brock’s heart hammered. He knew he should have been relieved -- liberated, maybe? -- but all he could think about was all the time he had spent doing the wrong thing. He should have thought to ask sooner, he should have known better… 

“And there you go in your head again,” Jack gathered him in his arms. “I know how hard you try, Brock and I appreciate that effort. But you don’t have to try so hard. You don’t need to be perfect all the time.” 

Brock was far from perfect and he voiced that. Jack laughed. “Only you would think that. Listen, as your Alpha I am telling you that you need to be easier on yourself. In fact tomorrow I am taking you to dinner. It ought to be a crime that I haven’t shown you off yet.” 

Brock had just been outed for trying too hard and now Jack wanted to bring him into public where he would embarrass them both? Brock didn’t know how to do anything but try. Because the Brock that didn’t try didn’t belong in this world and he didn’t want to shame Jack. His face must have shown it because Jack frowned. “I don’t know how else to reassure you Brock. You’ll have to help me out here. Tell me what you’re so afraid of.” 

“I don’t want to embarrass you.” 

“You won’t.” 

“You don’t know that,” Brock whispered. “I’m not… I’m not like the other omegas.” 

“And I chose you anyway. If I didn’t want you, I wouldn’t have courted you Brock. I know you don’t have the same background the others have and I don’t care.” Jack’s voice was stern. “So you don’t need to worry about embarrassing me. You’ve proven that you know how to behave in public. You don’t need to act the same way in private -- as long as you’re still following my instructions. Do you understand?” 

“What if you decide I’m not good enough?” Brock whispered, eyes downcast. 

“You’ll just have to trust me when I say that won’t happen. Do you trust me, Brock?” 

“Yes.” Brock said immediately because he did, he had to. “I trust you.” 

“Then it’s settled then.” Jack kissed his temple. “Let’s get some rest.”

Brock leaned over to turn off the lamp and settled into Jack’s arms. His mind was going a mile a minute and he was sorting through his thoughts but a warm feeling had settled in his chest and there was a general feeling of wellbeing that had escaped him for a long time. He trusted Jack. Things were going to get easier. Jack knew that he was really from the boonies and he didn’t care; there was hope for him yet.


End file.
